door, when I lighted the room and opened it to him. He came in,
excitedly flushed, and, instead of taking a chair, began to walk
quickly up and down the floor.

"I'm afraid I forgot all about you, Ansolini," he said, "but
that girl I ran into is a--a Miss Landry, whom I have known a
long--"

I put my hand on his shoulder for a moment and said:

"I think I am not so dull, my friend!"

He made a blue flash at me with his eyes, then smiled and shook
his head.

"Yes, you are right," he answered, re-beginning his fast pace
over the carpet. "It was she that I meant in Lucerne--I don't
see why I should not tell you. In Paris she said she didn't want
me to see her again until I could be--freiendly--the old way
instead of something considerably different, which I'd grown
to be. Well, I've just told her not only that I'd behave like a
friend, but that I'd changed and felt like one. Pretty much of a
lie that was!" He laighed, without any amusement. "But it was
successful, and I suppose I can keep it up. At any rate we're
going over to Venice with her and her mother to-morrow.
Afterwards, we'll see them in Naples just before they sail."

"To Venice with them!" I could not repress crying out.

"Yes; we join parties for two days," he said, and stopped at a